


Wednesday’s Child Is Full of Woe

by PinkFairy727



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, No Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkFairy727/pseuds/PinkFairy727
Summary: Prime Minister's Questions, good intentions and the end of the financial year are causing Edward Drummond to have a Very Bad Day.





	Wednesday’s Child Is Full of Woe

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be part of a longer Modern AU that I’m planning, but I quickly realised it wouldn’t fit in very well.

Edward Drummond hates Wednesdays.  He’s never been fond of Wednesdays, they're too close to Mondays and too far from the weekend, but since he started working for Sir Robert this irksome feeling has grown and mutated until it’s become something much more sinister and twisted.  Because since he started to work for Sir Robert, Wednesdays have come to mean one thing - Prime Minister’s Questions.

Now Edward has nothing against Prime Minister’s Questions in general, he recognises they’re a necessary evil, but most Wednesdays end with him popping two paracetamol with a cold cup of forgotten coffee while he resists the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall.

And today… well today was even worse than expected. 

Like any good private secretary, Edward believes in hoping for the best and preparing for the worst, yet nowhere in his preparations had he planned for His Royal Highness showing up as ‘moral support’.  He understands the Prince’s sentiments, but the Prince still does not completely understand the House, or the Press, and Edward could do nothing more than stare in horror as weeks, months, of hard work went up in flames due to one man’s good intentions. 

Edward changes his mind.  He _bloody loathes_ Prime Minister’s Questions.  And traitorous Tory back benchers.  And Wednesdays.  _Especially_ Wednesdays at the end of March which means Alfred is stuck at the palace for hours on end dealing with the year-end accounts. 

It’s late by the time he finally calls it a day, early enough that there’s still a couple of Tubes running but late enough that most of his fellow companions on the Underground have the same harried look of ‘overworked’ etched into their faces.  A glimpse of red and yellow catches his eye as the train pulls into Green Park and for one glorious second he thinks it’s Alfred.  Even before the young man turns around Edward knows it can’t be true, knows by the man’s stance and turn of his head even before logic kicks in and reminds Edward that Alfred wouldn’t be hanging around an Underground station at nearly midnight in his dress uniform.  

No, Alfred will either have fallen into bed by now or, if the last handful of snatched text messages is anything to go by, he will still be in his office at the Palace dealing with a mountain of paperwork. 

This is another thing Edward hates about Wednesdays.  Wednesdays used to mean dinner with Alfred, a light at the end of the day where they could compare horror stories about politicians and the palace staff and visiting dignitaries.  Since the beginning of March this has been replaced with apologetic messages and late nights where they both get stuck at work and one solitary Starbucks run when Alfred escaped from the palace for an hour before Edward attended yet another horrendous Brexit meeting.  

Perhaps it’s harsh to blame Wednesday for the failure of March as a whole, but he is tired and more than a little bitter and damn it he wants to speak to his boyfriend for more than two minutes before one of them is hurried off the phone to deal with yet another crisis.  Hell, he will even put up with Miss Coke’s knowing looks and The Duchess of Buccleuch’s comments about ‘unhealthy co-dependence’ if it means talking to Alfred in person. 

Still engrossed in his own gloom it’s not until Edward has locked the door to his flat and removed his coat that he realises something is... off.  Not amiss exactly, but his flat is definitely not how he left it this morning.  He’s not cooked anything more strenuous than a microwaveable Cottage Pie in a week so there’s no reason for the smell of spices to be lingering in the air.  Then there’s the soft light and low sounds coming from the living room.  The last time the television was turned on was Sunday evening, when he’d fallen asleep in front of the football highlights, so he knows he can’t have forgotten to turn it off in his haste to leave this morning. 

He knows he should probably be panicking slightly, but anybody who’d managed to break in without destroying the lock was unlikely to hang-around long enough to cook.  Trying, and mostly failing, not to get his hopes up Edward creeps slowly towards the source of noise. 

His caution is unnecessary, he quickly realises, as an explosion sounds on the television and the figure on the sofa doesn’t so much as twitch.  Edward quickly grabs the remote and hits the power button anyway; he wants to take a moment to just look, to take stock of this image in front of him. 

Alfred has clearly not stopped at his own flat on his way home from work.  Edward can see ink on his hands and his jacket is draped over a chair in the corner.  Two of his shirt buttons have been undone and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.  Edward crouches down and runs one of his hands slowly up Alfred’s arm from his wrist to his exposed elbow and back down again.  He needs to touch Alfred, needs to believe that this isn’t a dream, that he’s not still on the tube being lulled into a daydream. 

The contrast of Edward’s cold hands from the bitter March wind on Alfred’s sleep warmed skin does what the 11pm midweek movie could not and Alfred slowly stirs.  Edward smiles for what feels like the first time in days as Alfred slowly blinks awake. 

“Hello,” Alfred says, his voice husky from sleep and if it’s possible Edward finds his smile growing wider. 

“Hi,” Edward replies before leaning down to kiss Alfred gently.  He means for it just to be one kiss hello but before he can pull back properly Alfred has moved.  One of his hands grips the back of Edward’s head as he surges upwards and pulls Edward back down for a second kiss.  Then a third, a fourth, and Edward stops counting after that.  He lets the frustrations of the day start to ebb away, lulled into contentment by Alfred’s hands and mouth and warmth. 

“How bad was it?” Alfred asks eventually.  Instead of answering Edward sighs and tries to burrow himself even closer to Alfred.  By this point Edward has willingly surrendered to Alfred’s tugs and is now sprawled across his chest, their legs tangled together on the sofa.  

“Ah,” Alfred replies “that bad.” Edward hmms, too comfortable and too tired to articulate any coherent words.  He’s awake enough to realise the irony that, having spent the last few hours wanting to rant and rave, now he has Alfred here he doesn’t need to talk.  Just having Alfred here, one hand trailing up and down his back and the other scratching though his hair is enough to release the tension in his shoulders and finally relax for the first time in days. 

Perhaps the Duchess has a point about this co-dependence lark.  Edward quickly decides he doesn’t care.  He is comfortable and relaxed and quite happy to spend the little of the evening left on the sofa if it means Alfred keeps stroking his hair just so.  That is, until he is betrayed by his treasonous stomach. 

“Come on,” Alfred says, sitting up and forcing Edward to move with him after a particularly loud stomach rumble.  “I’ll heat supper up while you get changed.” 

Edward’s hand moves before he’s aware of it, tugging Alfred back down from his half-risen position so they’re sitting facing each other on the sofa.  He opens his mouth to say... he’s not sure what.  He wants to say ‘thank you – for supper, for coming over, for knowing I needed you’.  He wants to say ‘I’ve missed you’ and ‘stay’ and a hundred different things he’s not realised he wanted to say until now. 

He opens his mouth and closes it again, closes his eyes as he tries to put words to the thoughts and feelings swimming through his head faster than he can catch them.  Edward opens his eyes when he feels a warm hand cup his cheek, a thumb stroke gently across his cheekbone, a soft kiss to his lips. 

When Alfred rests their foreheads gently together Edward smiles, reading in Alfred’s face the answers to his own unspoken thoughts.  He can see ‘you’re welcome’, ‘I’ve missed you too’ and ‘always’ in his eyes, his smile, the gentle touch of his hand still resting on his face. 

They both laugh quietly when they’re interrupted again by Edward’s stomach reminding him he’s not eaten anything more substantial than a Twix since this afternoon’s debacle.  Edward steals one more kiss before allowing himself to be pulled off the sofa and chided towards his own bedroom. 

As Alfred heads towards the tiny kitchen Edward allows his eyes to follow him, smiling at how Alfred with his sleep-rumpled clothes and hair looks completely at ease in Edward’s kitchen.  Alfred manoeuvres his way around the cupboards, getting out bowls, glasses and cutlery, like heating up leftover curry at nearly 1 in the morning is something he’s done in this kitchen a hundred times before, like he’ll do it a hundred times in the future. 

This is what makes the last bit of Edward’s stress melt away.  The realisation that no matter how many days are ruined by well-meaning members of the royal household, politicians or infuriating amounts of red tape; no matter how many dinners at Cisco’s are cancelled or the number of times they can only speak in hurried texts between meetings, there will be evenings like this.  There will be evenings with reheated curry and quiet kisses and Alfred knowing where the bottle opener is for that one bottle of beer that’s been lying forgotten at the back of the fridge. 

Yes, Prime Minister’s Questions will to continue to raise his blood pressure, and the fall-out from today is going to be horrendous, but as long as Alfred is here he’ll persevere. 

Maybe some Wednesday’s aren’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm here on [Tumblr](http://pinkfairy727.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to come say hello.


End file.
